


Candid Confessions

by C_AND_B



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-20 06:14:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9479054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/C_AND_B/pseuds/C_AND_B
Summary: In a world where you can't lie to your soulmate Clarke really wishes she could stop blurting out her every thought (Lexa doesn't mind it so much).





	

**Author's Note:**

> As much as second person is my bitch, sometimes you gotta branch out. As always, hope it isn't shit and come find me on tumblr if there's anything you want.

For as long as she can remember Clarke had been told about soulmates – both theoretically and from experience. She had grown up with stories from her father about destined love and the ridiculous sense of finally being completely whole when everything fell into place. She heard her mother talk about how it changed her life. She watched her best friend Wells find his soulmate aged nine and it was nice.

She knew it was _nice_.

Certainly the concept of having someone made for you, someone designed to compliment you was... nice, but it was also terrifying because with stories of whole hearts and unsteady heartbeats came the truth. The truth being, well, the truth being that _truth_ was the key to your soulmate. That is to say that you couldn’t lie to them. You couldn’t lie to your soulmate and God did that set Clarke on edge.

She had expressed the thought time and again but she was always shut down with a “why would you want to lie, Clarke?” or “you should always want to be truthful with the ones you love” or some other bullshit that she could never quite get behind.

Sometimes you had to lie to loved ones.

Sometimes lying saved feelings.

Sometimes lying was better.

It was certainly better when she was promising to call girls, and boys, that she was never going to see again as she snuck out of their apartment. It was definitely better when she managed to look her dad in the eyes without telling him she saw Abby kissing another man (thankfully that had just been a misunderstanding in the end anyway). It was undoubtedly better when she lied about having helped Wells cheat on one of his college exams - he wasn’t in the right mindset that day and he deserved his place.

It was just better. Like a safety blanket. A fail safe. Another wall that she could place between her and the world. She liked lying. She relied on lying until she couldn’t. Until she found a girl who made the web weaver in her mouth turn against her. Until she found a girl who made her bones shake, forcing frightful tremors through her body without any real rhyme or reason.

(Of course the reason was that she was pretty, _beautiful_ actually, and all Clarke could think about was how charcoal would be the perfect way to capture the shadows that caressed her jaw, or how she had the perfect shade of paint to mimic her eyes or just generally, _holy shit holy shit holy shit_ ).

True to a world in which your soul calls to its missing counterpart, and clichés run rampant, Clarke finds her in a coffee shop. It isn’t anything special. The whole world doesn’t get brighter. Light bulbs don’t shatter. Angels don’t sing from the heavens.

It’s regular.

It’s mundane.

But Clarke does trip over her feet a little, and her tongue does feel too big for her mouth, and she does become acutely aware of the sweat pooling in various places of her body. Clarke feels like she’s six again and asking Niylah if she wants to share half of her chocolate chip cookie.

But it’s regular.

It’s mundane.

Until...

“Your eyes are the greenest things I’ve ever seen and I can’t stop picturing them looking up at me from between my legs.” _Iced mocha._ All she meant to ask for was an iced mocha - an incredibly common beverage ordered in a coffee shop, one that she often ordered without issue, except apparently that wasn’t going to be the case today. No. Today she was going to put her foot firmly in her mouth.

The worst thing was that she couldn’t deny it. It was true. _God it was true_. The woman was gorgeous, and not just in an objective way, but in a ‘ _I could look at your face and only your face for the rest of my life’_ kind of way (although that desire was obviously facing some contention, namely the fact that you just accosted her before you even knew her name, which was Lexa according to the name tag pressed on her chest).

“I can’t stop looking at your boobs.” _Oh God. Holy shit. Nope._ Clarke was going to get slapped. She was honestly going to get kicked out of some hipster coffee shop because she suddenly couldn’t stop speaking her mind, because she suddenly couldn’t stop telling the... truth.

_Fuck._

“That’s perfectly fine, Miss, I don’t think I’ve really stopped looking at yours since you came in.” She grimaces as she finishes and Clarke can’t help the laugh that tumbles from her lips. At least she wasn’t alone in all of this. At least they apparently both had dirty minds, and impulsive imaginations, but that made sense didn’t it? It made sense that they would be similar because they’re soulmates.

This girl - _Lexa_ \- was her soulmate.

Her _soulmate_.

Clarke doesn’t stay long enough to hear the apology Lexa delivers sincerely. She doesn’t stay to tell Lexa about herself. She doesn’t stay to learn more about the green eyed barista. She can’t. She can’t do this. She’s not ready to have a soulmate. She’s not ready to deal with the truth. She’s not ready to continuously make a massive fool of herself in front of an incredibly pretty girl who was designed to match her.

She ran.

And ran.

And hid herself in her studio painting green eyes and an unsure smirk knowing she’d end up back there sooner or later.

* * *

 

It was sooner.

It was far sooner than Clarke told herself she would go back, mainly because she told herself she would wait at least three days in the hopes the awkwardness would dissipate, and yet, here she was, the very next day.

In her defence she hadn’t slept a wink. She had spent half the night forgetting that she was supposed to sleep at some point, and then the other half tossing and turning because she couldn’t stop thinking about it. About her.

Then there was the fact that she hadn’t eaten because her stomach wouldn’t settle because she couldn’t stop thinking about it. _Her_. That was the last straw honestly. Clarke loved food. Clarke loved breakfast food even more - waffles, and pancakes, and French toast, and by God if she wasn’t the biggest fan of cereal to have ever walked earth - but all she had managed that morning was a glass of orange juice and a grape.

_One grape._

So she was back. Less than twenty four hours later she was back, desperately hoping that Lexa would be there too because truthfully she hadn’t thought that through when she left that morning. She just hoped she would be there, put on her coat and let her feet direct her back to the same coffee shop she had stumbled upon the day before.

She’s there. Of course she’s there. She’s too busy glaring, at what Clarke can only assume is the world’s most irritating customer, to notice when the blonde walks in but she’s all Clarke can see, and all Clarke can think is that it finally makes sense.

All of the stories, all of the hype, _everything_ finally made sense because she could feel it. It wasn’t a big thing. It was subtle. It was a gentle thrumming through her veins, a soft buzz running along her skin, a soft whirring in her fingertips. It was like every atom in her body was trying to reach towards the other woman, to Lexa, like they knew that’s where they were supposed to belong.

It was intoxicating.

Lexa was intoxicating.

She was also apparently staring right at Clarke, smirk planted firmly on her face. Busted. Clarke walks towards the counter because she has too. She can’t just keep weirdly staring across the room. She had to at least try to make a good impression after the debacle of their first meeting. She also apparently didn’t have much of a choice because Lexa was beckoning her and her legs were already moving on their own accord.

“Hello.” Simple. Safe. Not hyper sexual. _Well done, Clarke_.

“I don’t know your name. I can’t stop thinking that I don’t know your name.” Clarke can’t help but smile at the desperation in her tone. It sounds rather out of place in her voice and it strikes Clarke that Lexa isn’t used to being this vulnerable, and she can understand that, especially now.

She also thinks it’s cute. Ridiculously cute. The blush that colours her face - cute. The hesitant smile - cute. The slip in her confident posture – cute. She’s cute. Clarke’s soulmate is cute and she should really be responding by now.

“Clarke,” she says simply and then something odd happens; she suddenly realises that she’s nervous about what someone will think of her name. She had never really thought about it before. She never paid much mind to the comments that Clarke was an odd name, that it wasn’t used so much anymore and even less so for girls. She never cared. But now... now she found herself holding her breath and hoping this girl would approve of something so menial.

“Isn’t that a boy’s name?” Lexa questions quickly, grimacing apologetically when she realises she hadn’t quite managed to catch the words before they fell from her mouth.

“You’re just thinking of Clark Kent aren’t you?” Clarke asks with a smirk.

“Well now I’ll just think of you,” Lexa replies easily with a smile of her own. The comment makes Clarke’s heart jump. It’s comforting to know that she’s not the only one who can’t stop thinking about it, not the only one who is so utterly overwhelmed by her thoughts that nothing else in the world seems relevant.

But it’s not just that.

It’s about how simply she says it.

Deep down Clarke knows that she can’t lie, that this bond makes you spill your guts without thought, but still the soft way its uttered makes her falter, the simplicity of the statement makes all her walls crumble. It makes her want to kiss her. Clarke wants to kiss a woman that she knows nothing more about than a name and an occupation. She supposes that’s what the soulmate bond is all about - inevitability, addiction, want and need intertwined until they are but one feeling.

“Was that a line?”

“No, if I were using a line I would have gone for _you mocha me crazy_ , or _I can feel something brewing between us_.” Clarke can’t help the laughter that bubbles in her chest at the reply. She’s not sure if she’s ever heard a pickup line that terrible before but she still knows for a fact that if Lexa had tried them on her she wouldn’t have hesitated.

That level of dorkiness coupled with that level of hotness would be irresistible.

It _is_ irresistible.

“They would’ve worked,” Clarke finds herself admitting. She’s not sure if the success would be down to the fact that a face that pretty could say almost anything and it would appear charming, or because the storm in her stomach would have muffled the sound of any doubt in her mind.

A cough echoes from behind Clarke, and she watches as Lexa delivers a sharp glare to whoever stands behind her impatiently. She probably shouldn’t find it so hot (she finds it incredibly hot). But then Lexa turns back to Clarke, and a smile slips back onto her face as she regards the girl before her, offering a good natured eye roll and a mutual understanding that this had to come to an end at some point.

“Good to know. So, what can I get you today?” Lexa asks, her hands and head already cataloguing the steps of different drinks.

“Just a latte please.” A nod. Hands reach for a cup.

“Oh polite, I like it.”

“I have a couple of other things you might like.” And of course she couldn’t have just kept it normal for the last few seconds it was going to take her drink to be finished. _Fantastic_.

“I don’t doubt it.” Lexa winks, scribbling her pen along the side of the cup with both precise ease and a drop of uncertainty. She takes a deep breath before she hands it over; letting her fingers brush along Clarke’s slowly with a sly grin as she receives her desired response - a stuttered breath, a slow blink. “Maybe you could call me and we can stop avoiding the reality of this.”

Clarke nods and heads for the door.

She could call.

She could most definitely call.

* * *

 

She couldn’t call.

How in the hell was she just supposed to casually call?

This was her soulmate. She needed a plan of action. Or several plans of action. And then some extra back up plans, and maybe a ticket to Aruba where she could hide out when she inevitably said something weird, and made the person who was destined to at least like her run away because she was-

Raven snatches the phone out of nowhere and pushes the call button.

“Raven,” Clarke grumbles. Her glare in full force as she stares down a smiling Raven and a phone that is ringing. The phone is ringing. She isn’t ready but the phone is ringing and she can’t hang up now because that would look weird but she’s not ready. She can’t do this. She hadn’t prepared herself. She hadn’t worked out how to angle the conversation so that she could minimise the amount of awkward comments she could spew.

_Shit._

“You’re welcome.” She was going to punch Raven later. On the boob. Both boobs. Maybe even the-

“Hello?” She could do this. Clarke could totally do this. She could talk to the girl with the pretty voice, and the even prettier face, and she could not freak out or become a total idiot during the process.

“Hey, Lexa, it’s Clarke. From the coffee shop, the blonde, your soulmate, blue eyes, I was staring at your boobs.” _Well_ , at least she wasn’t freaking out yet. Honestly, it could have been worse. Lexa was laughing at least (an incredibly pretty laugh it should be noted).

“I had you at Clarke but I appreciate the clarification.” Lexa chuckles again and it’s a sound that had Clarke thinking _I can do this_ and _what the fuck I can’t do this_ all at once. She’s kind of ridiculously afraid that she’s going to blurt it out. That Lexa will laugh once more and suddenly she’ll be writing sonnets about it, or painting her face on the side of a god damn skyscraper.

She feels like an idiot.

“I’m glad you called,” Lexa continues.

She feels like slightly less of an idiot.

(She’s sure that won’t last).

“Well technically my friend called and then shoved the phone into my hand because she was tired of me talking about you but never actually calling you.” It had been a week since she first met Lexa in the coffee shop. A week since she tragically almost died from starvation because she couldn’t stop thinking about Lexa. It had also coincidentally been a week since she couldn’t seem to open her mouth without talking about Lexa, or how green Lexa’s eyes were, or how pretty she was, or just taking the time to say her name aloud because she had a _Lexa_ and that was kind of incredible.

“Well, I’m glad she called then,” Lexa says softly. Timidly. Almost as though there was some part of her brain telling her Clarke wouldn’t. It’s an odd thing, Clarke supposes, a soulmate. It’s an odd thing to know that the universe thinks you’re two halves of one whole, but still know you have to figure each other out. An odd thing to know that someone was destined for you but not know that it’ll definitely work, that both of you will definitely try to make it work.

Destiny doesn’t always mean certainty.

“Me too.”

(Clarke feels pretty certain).

“I guess since you, slash your friend, finally made a move it’s my turn to ask if you’d like to go out some time. I’d say coffee but I get enough of that at work, so maybe we could get dinner?” She sounds stronger this time, like she’s sure she’ll get a yes. She should be confident. Clarke saying no was about as likely as Raven not using her brace as an excuse to ride around the supermarket in one of the mobility scooters.

“Dinner sounds nice,” Clarke answers smoothly and this isn’t going terribly. Maybe she wouldn’t need a new identity and a ticket to Aruba anytime soon.

“Text me your address and I’ll pick you up at seven?” Clarke nods dopily, smiling stupidly in a way that urges Raven to lob a pillow at her face, before she realises that Lexa can’t exactly see her nodding and quickly jumps to fill the silence.

“Great.” It sounds far too chipper (but Clarke is apparently also far too chipper to actually care).

“Great,” Lexa mimics.

“Great.” She has officially forgotten the English language. Super. On the brightside it would stop her from blurting out all the stupid thoughts in her head, or the innuendos that were lying on the tip of her tongue.

“You already said that,” Lexa points out.

“I just wanted you to keep talking. I like the sound of your voice.” She can’t explain it. She doesn’t know what it is exactly that has her heart tipping off its podium, or her ears pleading for more. She thinks it could be the way it switches from soft and sweet to something lower, something powerful. She thinks maybe the contrast echoes Lexa herself – strong and authoritative on the surface but something far more complex underneath. She thinks it could be the gravel that seeps in. She thinks it could be the odd musicality to her words. She thinks it could be everything. She thinks there’s a huge possibility that it’s nothing in particular at all, that it’s just the fact that Lexa is talking, and that she’s talking to Clarke.

The last one’s probably true.

(The rest of it doesn’t hurt though).

“I like the sound of yours too.” And just like that Clarke is back to being flustered. One sentence. One confession. One slight compliment and suddenly she’s back to blushing, and making Raven make gagging noises, and forgetting how to speak, and how to use words, and maybe a little bit how to breathe because this is her soulmate.

Her soulmate likes her voice and it seems so small in the scheme of things. So unimportant. But how can something that makes your blood rush that little bit faster, and you fingertips tingle like you’ve just been burned, be unimportant?

“Great,” Clarke repeats. Lexa laughs and Clarke’s heart skips a beat every time a new chuckle trickles through the phone.

“Great.” Lexa mocks back and now Clarke’s laughing and she can hear the hitch in Lexa’s breath as soon as it happens. She’s glad she’s not the only one affected by this. She’s glad she’s not the only one feeling the significance of every little thing.

Clarke briefly wonders if it will always be like this. She wonders if her body will always flush with adrenaline when Lexa laughs, or speaks, or exists. She wonders if she’ll ever get used to it. She wonders if that’s how she’ll die - if one day Lexa will laugh and her body will think _what a way to go_.

(Clarke wouldn’t complain).

“So seven?” Clarke confirms, eyes drifting to the clock, because this conversation has to end sometime and she would prefer it to be at a point that means she has ample time to prepare for this date.

“Seven.”

“See you then.” She hangs up quickly because she’s afraid she won’t otherwise and, even with a soulmate, there is no way in hell she’s going to become the _no you hang up_ girl. She refuses too. She’s seen it. She’s heard it. She almost lived it once before she cut that relationship off quicker than you can say _it’s not you, it’s me_.

Except, then she’s faced with another issue. That issue being that, without Lexa on the phone distracting her with her pretty breathing and whatnot, she has time to freak out. Ample time to wonder what the hell she’s doing because what if this is a mistake, or some kind of prank where a dude jumps out of the bushes with a camera?

She shoots off a text and tries not to think about it.

She’s thinking about it.

Of course she’s thinking about it.

“Shouldn’t you look excited?” Raven questions, abruptly dropping onto the couch beside Clarke, munching happily on a bag of chips that she seemed to have pulled from thin air. Clarke was almost completely sure that she had secret stash hidden somewhere but that wasn’t the issue at this moment so she would let it go.

For now.

Later she would definitely be getting back to the chips.

“I am.” She is. She really is. _She’s excited_. But then she’s also incredibly, ineffably, cripplingly nervous and it’s hanging over the excitement like a giant black cloud. She wants to focus on the excitement. Clarke wants nothing more than to spend her time analysing the flutter in her stomach or the way her mind is racing with a thousand thoughts of Lexa per second but she can’t.

All she can think is that she’s seen these things go wrong before. She doesn’t want this to go wrong. She thinks that this could be the best thing that happens to her in her life. Lexa could be the best thing that happens to her in her life. But Lexa could also be the best almost. The best not now. The best maybe someday, maybe some other life and she doesn’t want that.

Clarke wants tangible, and all consuming, and now.

“You may be able to lie to me Griffin but that doesn’t mean that you should. Come here, momma Reyes is gonna listen to all your problems.” Clarke doesn’t hesitate to slip her head onto Raven’s lap. She ignores the thought that Raven is almost undoubtedly brushing cheese dust through her hair with every new stroke because it’s just comforting enough for her not to care to question it.

“I am excited. Honestly. She’s pretty, and she seems nice, and she makes incredible coffee-“

“Always a bonus.”

“It’s just- I- What if it’s not real? What if it’s...” She doesn’t know how to say it. She doesn’t think she should say it. The two of them had gotten so good at not saying it. Honestly, there were few people they knew that hadn’t got incredibly good at not saying it.

“Like Finn?” And Raven just said it.

“That’s not- I didn’t.” She didn’t really mean to bring it up. She had been thinking about it. A lot. Clarke had, in fact, been thinking about that whole situation pretty much nonstop since she met Lexa. At least when she wasn’t thinking about how pretty Lexa was, or what it would be like to kiss her, or the coffee she made because she was not over exaggerating when she said it was incredible.

“Listen to me Clarke, just because I let myself get played by some good for nothing lowlife, doesn’t mean that everyone is like that. I mean, it takes a special kind of asshole to drug someone to fake a soulmate bond, and you said she’s nice. Just let her be nice. Be nice back. Stop being so cynical because I made a mistake.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Clarke sits up. She can’t believe that Raven would even think that. She wonders if Raven has always thought this. If she always blamed herself for something she couldn’t have controlled. Raven had believed it. Clarke had believed it. Everyone had believed it. Then suddenly the truth started to come out and everything fell apart.

That was two years ago.

Clarke hadn’t seen Raven with anyone since.

“I was stupid,” Raven scoffs.

“You were a hopeless romantic,” Clarke counters.

She won’t back down.

“I’m sure deep down, under all this beautiful, _beautiful_ , bullshit I still am, which is why I’m telling you to get that fine ass in some tight pants, and put the golden globes on display, because you’re going out with that girl.” Clarke laughs good naturedly as she’s pushed to her feet with a slap to her ass and the usual Raven grin.

“ _Okay, okay._ ”

“Good because you’ve already texted her our address so, short of us shutting off the lights and hiding until she leaves, you were going to have to go.” She may have forgotten about that part.

“That’s... a good point.”

“For future reference, I would do that for you,” Raven confesses and finds Clarke in her arms not a second later. The hug isn’t just for the comment. It’s for bringing... _everything_ back up and for the fact that even when she was falling apart; Raven was always there for her. They had always been there for each other and she was glad. Clarke doesn’t think she would have got through anything without Raven. She would definitely be struggling to get through this without her.

“I’d do it for you too.”

“Of course you would, I’m fucking awesome. Now chop chop chica, you don’t have all day.”  If Raven can have that kind of confidence after everything she’s been through then Clarke can too.

Clarke can do this.

She’s going to put on an outfit that draws attention to her assets, give Lexa her best smirk, and then woo the shit out of her until she forgets every stupid thing that comes out of Clarke’s mouth or, at the very least, finds them charming instead.

* * *

 

“So we’re soulmates.” Clarke hadn’t quite meant to just blurt it out like that. She had thought it when Lexa picked her up with a bouquet of flowers and a sheepish smile as she explained what each of them meant. Clarke couldn’t tell which flower was which but she blushed along anyway, smiling her own nervous smile.

She thought it again when they were walking to the restaurant and Clarke didn’t second guess holding Lexa’s hand (which had been drifting suspiciously close to her own without ever actually grabbing it). She thought it again after that when she realised it was silent, and yet, she hadn’t started to feel the usual jitters that pushed her to say something. She had liked the silence. She liked the steady rhythm of their breaths intertwining and the buzz of cars driving by.

So Clarke had been thinking about it.

She couldn’t stop thinking about it.

But that still didn’t mean she wanted to blurt it out, an octave higher than usual, alongside her third blush of the evening (an evening that had been going on for like ten minutes tops).

“Yes.” It’s simple. Sure. Completely different to the way she had fumbled with her words in an attempt to explain her flowers, or well, to explain her feelings under the pretence of flowers. Clarke supposed maybe Lexa had been stumbling through the same thoughts she had on the walk - that maybe she too couldn’t help but be fixated on the simplicity of it all and how refreshing it was.

“Did you realise it was like this, I mean, I get that you can’t lie but the whole blurting out whatever is going through your head thing is ridiculous, and really just a recipe for trouble.”

“Oh yeah? What are you thinking right now?” She should really have been prepared for that. She should also have started to mentally prepare herself for Lexa’s stare because she was sure, when it was paired with a cocked brow and a smirk, soulmate bond or no, Clarke would be spilling her guts.

“That I can’t decide what I want to do more - paint you or paint _on_ you,” Clarke answers quickly, punctuating the end of her sentence with a glare. “That was mean.”

“You’re cute when you pout.”

“You’re cute all the time.”

“I am not cute,” Lexa scoffs indignantly. In Clarke’s opinion the action only adds to the cute factor, especially when her brow creases in barely hidden annoyance. It’s cute. She thinks that she’s probably supposed to find it intimidating, or commanding, or something not-cute but it’s cute. Lexa’s cute. Lexa is _I made a personal flower arrangement_ cute and sure; she was hot and made Clarke a nervous wreck with her seemingly always cool demeanour, but still...

“I beg to differ.”

“You can beg all you like.” A blush spreads across Lexa’s face the moment the words spill out. She looks like she’s silently willing the earth to open up and swallow her whole. Clarke can’t do much more than laugh and give her everything to not visualise... _that._ “Your recipe for disaster hypothesis is probably correct. Tell me about yourself.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

“That could take some time,” Clarke says and Lexa smiles softly, tipping her head to regard Clarke before she speaks again.

“You may have forgotten, but I do believe we’re destined to spend the rest of our lives together, so I think I can spare a few minutes to hear about the trials and tribulations of high school, and how you were crowned prom queen.” Clarke scoffs but Lexa gives her a challenging look, and she quickly deflates. She can’t deny it. She had been prom queen, and valedictorian, and a cheerleader. She had been a complete cliché (other than not dating the quarterback - the girls, and guys, who hid out in the art room at lunch had captured her attention far more).

“Ok, but then I want to hear all about you.” Lexa had to have a secret. Just one. Just one, tiny, embarrassing detail or story that would make Clarke feel a little less bad about all the awkward things she was about to admit to. Just one little thing that Clarke could mock her about for the rest of their lives.

_The rest of their lives._

“I can do that.”

“No lies,” Clarke quips with a wink, holding out her pinky for Lexa to shake. Lexa laughs at her immediately but also doesn’t hesitate to hook her own pinky on to seal the deal. Clarke smiles wider.

“No lies,” Lexa repeats. She’s about to pull her hand away when Clarke readjusts and slips her hand into Lexa’s, interlocking their fingers with a questioning gaze. The response she receives is a warm smile and a soft squeeze to her hand in gentle reassurance that it’s alright.

(It’s more than alright).

* * *

 

They’re almost finished with dinner, and only an inch into figuring out each other, when Lexa’s phone starts to kick up a fuss. Her eyes flicker towards it with each new buzz, and she’s glad she at least put it on vibrate before dinner. Clarke watches her as she tries to continue her sentence. Lexa had been telling her about the coffee shop, which she apparently owned, and something about different kinds of coffee beans that honestly Clarke had forgotten to listen to because she was distracted.

She figures the fact that it’s Lexa she was distracted by makes that somewhat okay.

“You can answer; you know, it must be important for you to get that many.”

“Sorry, it’s my sister, her motorbike is playing up and she’s freaking out because it’s probably the closest she’ll ever get to a child.” Lexa picks up her phone quickly, nimbly flicking her finger across the screen. She’s not even managed to fully put it down on the table when it goes off again and she groans lowly. Clarke laughs, squeezing the hand that somehow never left hers during the whole ordeal, before she searches for her own phone.

“Well, if it’s that serious, she should definitely have my friend’s number.” She slides her phone across the table when Raven’s number appears on her recently called list. “Here. She’s the best mechanic I know, and strangely I seem to know a lot. Don’t ever tell her I said that though because that girl’s ego could already power the entire state.”

“I’m sure her and Anya will get along swimmingly then.” Lexa’s phone buzzes again and she mumbles a quiet, “I am so going to kill Anya later,” before she chuckles at the message. She must realise the question written all over Clarke’s face because she sighs and says, “She asked if she’s hot?”

“She is.” The answer is not hesitant. Obviously she can’t lie and obviously Raven is hot. But there’s a difference between thinking someone is hot and wanting to sleep with them, and Clarke can objectively say that her friend is hot, but she doesn’t want to sleep with her. _Again_.

“Do I have some competition, Clarke?”

“Never, just stating a fact.”

“Great.” Lexa winks and Clarke groans in reply. She was never going to get away from that one. Although, she supposes that’s better than half the other crap she hadn’t been able to subdue through the night - most of them being increasingly suggestive innuendos (Clarke’s ninety-eight percent sure the only reason she isn’t being mocked on those is because she genuinely piqued Lexa’s interest. Well, that, and Lexa blushed at each one so there was no way she could actually repeat them back).

“You’re lucky I like you,” Clarke mumbles.

“I am.” The reply is quick and Clarke is struck with how sincere it sounds as Lexa sends her a bashful smile and flags down the waiter. The shift in her demeanour as she interacts with the man, paying the bill swiftly, and smiling stiffly but politely, is odd.

She’s different with Clarke.

With Clarke her polite smile slips into a smirk or something timid, something full of awe. With Clarke her glare softens to a gaze, one that’s no less impenetrable but far more enticing. With Clarke her perfect posture and firmly clasped hands give way to an undeniable swagger and unsure but daring fingertips. With Clarke her words are smoother. With Clarke her eyes are brighter.

With Clarke she’s something more.

With Clarke she’s whole.

“You ready to go?” Lexa asks, lifting Clarke’s coat for her to slip into, and Clarke pulls herself from her daze just in time to stand and accept the action before Lexa starts getting suspicious and asks her what she’s thinking about. The thing is – even Clarke isn’t sure what the answer will be. She’s not sure if the answer would just be a reverent _you_ or if, in the end, her conclusion about Lexa goes far deeper than that.

(If she’s already in love with her).

The walk home is almost as quiet as the one there. Only Lexa doesn’t hesitate to hold her hand this time, and Clarke revels in her laughter when she swings their arms outrageously between them before wrapping her arm around Lexa’s waist to pull her in closer.

“Well, this is me. Which, you obviously know, seeing as you picked me up here.” Lexa doesn’t laugh, or grin, or make a joke about the rollercoaster that is Clarke’s confidence. Clarke almost speaks again before she sees Lexa take a deep breath. The exhale is shaky when she takes a step forward. Clarke can feel Lexa’s body trembling as it pushes against hers.

She knows what’s about to happen. She knows that Lexa is trying to give her time to pull away. She thinks it’s ridiculous that Lexa would even think that she wants to. She thinks you would have to be blind to not see how much Clarke has wanted Lexa to kiss her.

She also knows that Lexa knows exactly what she’s doing to her. She knows that Lexa can feel her heart hammering in her chest because she can sure as hell feel Lexa’s. She knows that Lexa can hear just how unsteady her breathing is. She knows that her eyes are staring at exactly one thing as Lexa leans in closer.

She stops an inch away.

Clarke can smell the wine on her breath with every new breath she takes. Clarke can taste the two dollar soap on her hands as Lexa’s thumb brushes across her lip. Clarke can feel her gearing herself up.

(Lexa hasn’t even kissed her yet and Clarke’s already addicted).

Her lips are soft when they descend on Clarke’s.  Lexa kisses like she’s trying to memorise every millimetre of Clarke. Her lips are timid, then hard, then timid again like they never dared be anything else. Her tongue deftly slips into Clarke’s mouth without warning or pretence, and Clarke can’t stifle the soft whimper she emits when it flicks against her own. Her hands trickle down Clarke’s spine like honey. They clasp at her jaw like she needs something, _anything_ , to keep her grounded to the moment. They coil at the nape of her neck, and slip into her hair, and run along her jaw, and it feels like they’re everywhere.

“Was that...ok?” Lexa asks quietly when they pull away, and Clarke would laugh if she didn’t think her lungs would explode at the action.

“That was... rest of my life worthy,” Clarke jokes and watches in awe as Lexa tries to roll her eyes at her but instead ends up grinning foolishly

“Thank God because you’re stuck with me now.” They laugh.

“Great.”

“Great.”

(Clarke could think of worse things).


End file.
